


Routine Maintenance

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes loves science, Friendship, Gen, Science Bros, Vague acknowledgement of triggers and attendant past trauma (non-explicit), dissociation (but temporary! and mild!), this makes everything sound worse than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce, Tony, and Bucky happen to spend a lot of time in the lab, but that doesn't mean there aren't occasional problems. Also, science saves the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natlyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natlyn/gifts).



“No, the pressure’s fine, it’s just the range of motion’s fucked,” Bucky’s saying when Bruce walks into the lab. He’s sitting with his shirt off on Tony’s lab bench while Tony digs through a pile of machine tools. 

“Mind if I…?” Bruce asks, and gestures with his cup of tea to the notes laid out on his workbench.

“Go ahead.” Bucky waves the arm that isn’t currently plugged into a computer. “What’s today’s project?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Bruce heads for his own bench, careful not to stare. “Re-tasking some military satellites for science.” 

Bucky laughs: a short, warm sound. “Tony’s a bad influence on you, Dr. Banner.”

“That’s what I do,” Tony says. “Move here.” He lifts Bucky’s metal arm by the wrist and pulls it out to the side. “Huh. See what you mean. Hold on.” Tony keeps hold of Bucky’s arm with one hand while he jabs at a keyboard with the other.

“So,” Bucky says. “Spying on Hydra? Trying to get free HBO? What?” Bucky always takes the time to ask about Bruce’s research when he’s in the lab. Bruce isn’t sure if it’s just to distract himself from Tony’s prodding or if he’s genuinely interested in the science, but Bruce is happy either way. After years of working alone, it’s nice to talk out his ideas once in a while. 

“Bend. No, here, move it this way,” Tony instructs. He pulls the arm back and bends the elbow ninety degrees. “Yeah. Think you might have an alignment issue.”

“It’s an experiment, actually.” Bruce perches on the stool by his workbench and grabs his StarkPad. “I want to see if I can track spikes in gamma radiation over a larger territory. If I could set up some kind of widespread detection system, I could pinpoint suspicious activity.”

“An early warning system, “Bucky says slowly.

“Exactly!”

“No, definitely the rotors. Here.” Tony pushes Bucky’s arm against his back and tugs his wrist up. 

“The idea is we’d get a heads up in anyone was messing around with Asgardian artifacts or trying to develop the kind of technology that would—Hey.” When Bruce walks around the bench to pick up his tea, he notices that Bucky’s no longer paying attention. “Bucky?” 

Bucky’s eyes have gone blank and dull, fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him. His expression is eerily neutral, all former interest in Bruce’s explanation wiped away as if it had never been. “Bucky?” he tries again, but there’s not even a flicker of a response. “Tony, hang on.”

“I’ve almost got—what?” Tony leans over to look at Bruce, and then quickly follows his gaze to Bucky’s face. “Shit. Okay, hold on.” Tony gently eases his grip on Bucky’s arm and gingerly repositions it so it hangs at his side. Then Tony steps around the workbench, careful to keep his distance. “Hey, Barnes, you with us?”

There’s no acknowledgment, no change of expression. Bruce takes a step closer, but Tony flings an arm out to stop him. “Hang on. We’ve had a few close calls during arm maintenance fun time. Things can get a little… Soldier-y.”

“He’s not going to hurt me, Tony. The Other Guy won’t let him.”

Tony drops his arm, and Bruce takes two slow steps closer to Bucky, keeping both hands in plain sight. “Hey, Bucky. It’s Bruce. I was telling you about the experiment I’m running today. I have to retask a few satellites so I can cover a large enough territory to get good data. Here, check out the simulation.” He holds out his hand, and Tony passes over the Starkpad from Bruce’s desk. He brings up the model he’d been working on yesterday, then turns the screen around to display the visualization. Bucky’s eyes track the motion. 

Bruce explains the variables he’s working with, the challenge of getting a patched-together network like this to operate in synch. By the time he’s wrapping up a basic primer on ambient gamma radiation, Bucky’s eyes have some life in them again. He reaches out to point to a graph on the StarkPad. “So that’s why you need three sweeps to get one good data set.”

“Right.” Bruce manages a weak smile. “Fast learner.”

“Hey Robocop, you okay?” Tony asks. He has a hand carefully outstretched, as if he’s forgotten he’s not wearing a gauntlet.

“Yeah.” A line creases Bucky’s brow. “Why? Did I--?” His head snaps to the side to look at his arm, plates still open for maintenance, and at the tools hastily discarded on the workbench. Then his eyes dart between Tony and Bruce. “Are you okay? Did I do anything?”

“Nah.” Tony looks at Bruce. “Just got that thousand yard Soldier stare. I must have triggered something working on the arm. Sorry.” Tony steps back up to the bench, but he doesn’t pick up his tools. “I’ll let you move it yourself next time.”

“It happens.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his flesh hand and doesn’t make eye contact. “You know you guys don’t have to waste your whole afternoon babysitting me if I’m catatonic.”

“Wasn’t the whole afternoon this time,” Tony says, leaning over the bench and twirling a screwdriver. 

“Well, waste _hours_ you could be using to invent interdimensional travel or whatever.” Bucky sweeps an arm to encompass the rest of the lab, where half-finished projects are strewn around like breadcrumbs. “Jarvis can keep an eye on me.”

“Okay, first,” Tony holds up a finger. “Don’t confuse me with Reed Richards. That’s just rude. Second, Jarvis, how long was Sergeant Barnes here unresponsive?”

“Twelve minutes, seventeen seconds,” Jarvis reports from the ceiling. 

“That’s….” Bucky blinks, then looks between Bruce and Tony.

“Apparently the antidote to a dissociative funk is some Banner technobabble.” Tony stabs his screwdriver in Bruce’s direction. “Puts everyone else right to sleep, but your head’s messed up from decades of Hydra brainwashing, so go figure.”

Bucky glances at Bruce, and though crease on his forehead is back, he doesn’t look unhappy. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Bruce takes a sip of his now-cold tea. “I’m kind of the team expert on unpleasant altered mental states.”

“Okay, can we get back to realigning some delicate machine parts here?” Tony asks. “We’ve got some range of motion to restore.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Bucky moves his arm where Tony points, then turns back to Bruce. “So, Dr. Banner, what were you saying about compensating for orbital drift?”


End file.
